* * *
Anton and Ilya are in the lounge when we go to the kitchen for breakfast. Our brief exchange is strained, but I don’t linger long enough for their sulking faces to sour my spirits. I tell them to clean the apartment—an instruction that elicits much protest—and take Mina clothes shopping for her meeting with Dimitrov.
We drive to an exclusive boutique chain store Petrova frequents. While Mina is browsing the dresses for something in Petrova’s style—a task she’s better equipped for than I am—I take a seat on the sofa in the waiting area and check the messages on my phone.
There’s a new one from our hackers.
Keeping one eye on Mina, I read the message. When I get to the second paragraph, I sit up straighter. My stomach churns, my blood boiling. I read the sentence again. And again.
“Yan?”
Mina’s soft voice breaks through the cloud of fury that threatens to smother me. I look up to see her standing in front of me, a white dress dangling from her fingers and a frown on her face.
“Is everything all right?” she asks warily.
No. Nothing is all right. I want to go on a murdering rampage. In fact, that’s exactly what I’ll do. “Did you say something?”
“I asked what you think about the dress.”
With difficulty, I turn my attention to the garment in her hand. It’s sleeveless and short, definitely something Petrova would wear. “Seems fitting for the occasion.”
She throws a thumb toward the fitting rooms. “I’m going to try it on.”
“Do that, and come show me.”
With a roll of her eyes, she walks off. I watch her enter the changing area. I see how dainty and beautiful she is, how fucking perfect, and everything is tainted with red and nothing is all right. I feel like vomiting. I turn back to the text on my phone, to the reason why Mina left the Special Forces, but all I can see is her small body and the ten soldiers who tried to violate it.
All I can see is the photo of my beautiful, perfect Mina, and how broken they left her.
23
Mina
The door of the changing room opens as I’m pulling up the zipper of the dress. For crying out loud. Did Yan seriously pick the lock? I get that he doesn’t trust me, but where will I go in a cubicle with no windows? I’m in a dead-end changing area. I’m not Houdini, for God’s sake.
“You don’t have to check up on me in here.” I turn with a scowl and freeze.
The man shutting the door behind him and turning the lock isn’t Yan. He’s blond with brown eyes and about sixty years old. I can easily take him out, which is why I don’t. I don’t feel threatened, but I’m vigilant.
I point at the door. “Get out.”
He puts a finger on his lips and motions for me to be quiet. I may not recognize his face, but I don’t miss the smile or the distinct way he carries himself with blatant fearlessness, a trait many mistake for arrogance or vanity.
My heart starts galloping so fiercely I can hear the blood pumping in my ears. “Gergo?”
He smiles.
Fuck, he’s good. No wonder they call him The Chameleon. My shock turns into fear. Is he crazy? Yan is sitting a short distance away. He can walk in on us at any minute.
I grab Gergo’s arm and whisper urgently, “You have to get out of here.”
“No one saw me come in.”
“It’s not safe.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“I’m not alone,” I grit out.
“I know.” He tilts his head toward the door. “Yan Ivanov is babysitting you.”
In the mirrors surrounding us, my eyes grow large. “How do you know? How did you find me?” Please tell me you didn’t follow me.
“I followed you.”
Shit. “Why?”
“I’m worried about you. Back in Budapest, you weren’t yourself. I wanted to make sure you were all right, and just as well I did.”
“Gergo, I’m serious. You have to go. If he finds you here—”
“He looked absorbed in whatever he was doing on his phone. He’s not going to come looking for you. We have a few minutes.”
“What if he’d seen you coming in here? I can’t believe you’d take such a risk.”
“I pushed a rail of clothes in front of the entrance to the changing area.”
Going on tiptoes, I peer over the door. A rail of clothes shoppers had tried on but not taken does indeed block the view. I look back at my ex-teammate. The judgment on his face makes me cringe. “It’s not what you think.”
“You’re living at his place. He brought you clothes shopping. What must I think?”
“I’m doing a job for him.”
“A job? You’re working for the Russians now?”
“Kind of.”
“They were going to kill you. You said you escaped. What are you hiding?”
“Nothing.”
“Fine.” He pulls a gun from his waistband. “In that case, I’ll just take him out now. He won’t even see it coming.”
At the sight of the weapon, my heart slams into my ribs. The idea of anything happening to Yan makes my palms sweat and my temples throb with my quickening pulse. I don’t stop to analyze these symptoms. If anything, I should encourage Gergo to carry out his threat. Instead, I grab his arm again and whisper-shout, “No.”
He stills, but he doesn’t put the gun away. “Is he blackmailing you?”
I rub my neck, my fingers playing over the small bump in my nape. “It’s complicated. I don’t want to get you involved.”
“I’m already involved.” He lowers his head to put us on eye level. “Talk to me, Mink. I want to help you.”
“Gergo, please. I beg you. Just go.”
“I’m not going anywhere until you talk to me.”
I’m getting increasingly nervous. If Yan decides to check on me, one of them will definitely end up dead. “I can’t. Please, Gergo. I just can’t.”
Hurt spills into his eyes. “Don’t you trust me?”
“What? No! You know I do.”
“Then what’s the issue, sweetheart? Why won’t you let me
